


Things You Said

by GoldenTruth813



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-29
Updated: 2015-10-29
Packaged: 2018-04-28 19:59:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5103887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldenTruth813/pseuds/GoldenTruth813
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Can Draco and Harry heal their relationship after a misunderstanding turns things sour?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Things You Said

**Author's Note:**

> The first part was based off a requested drabble on Tumblr, and the second part was my need to give the boys their happier ending.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what I’ve done but I’m sorry because I’ve obviously done something if your behavior is anything to go by” Harry says earnestly, shoving his hands into his pockets and looking at Draco with far too much openness for his liking.

“It doesn’t matter,” Draco tells him, holding onto his spoon so tightly he’s afraid it might snap in half as he continues to stir his tea for far longer than necessary, desperate for something to busy himself.

“Whatever I did just tell. Please.”

Draco snorts, slamming the spoon down onto the counter so loudly Harry flinches.

“What are you scared, Potter.”

“Don’t be like this, Draco.”

“I have no idea what you’re referring to. Now if you would kindly leave my kitchen and return home I have things to do.”

“Home….you want me to go home?” Harry asks and Draco feels a strange sort of satisfaction at the hurt look on his face.

“Well that is where you live isn’t it?” He replies cooly.

“Yeah…yeah. I just haven’t been there in awhile. Most of my stuff is here, you know that,” he says sounding very unsure of himself as he stares at his feet. Draco wonders where his courage is now. Maybe he lost it the way he lost Draco’s trust.

“Yes well you never officially moved in did you. Kept your place just in case things went sour. I heard you, you know. Last night when you were talking to Weasley. ‘Oh well I’m not ready to get rid of my apartment just yet, you never know how things will end up’” Draco says his voice taking on a higher pitch as he enunciates every word.

“Is that why you’re angry?”

“I am not fucking angry!” Draco yells. “That would imply that I was emotionally invested in this relationship. Which I am not. And neither, apparently, are you.”

“Draco, I was drunk and I didn’t mean it like that. I bet you didn’t even hear everything else I said.”

“Of course not! Why would I want to listen to you two idiots a moment longer than necessary?”

“Draco stop being an ass and talk to me, like a normal person.”

Draco seethes, snatching his wand off the table and pointing it directly at Harry’s face.

“Get out of my house right now or I will hex you into tomorrow.”

“Draco you can’t be-”

“Now!” He yells, watching with a strange mix or triumph and heartbreak as Harry gives him one last sad look before disapparating with a loud crack.

He feels his stomach twist painfully and it’s all he can do not to pick up his cup of tea and throw it across the room. Instead he sits down with a cup of fire whiskey and drowns his sorrows, remembering a time when he’d been sure he might die at Harry’s hand only he’d been sure it would be during the war, not of heartache.

 

*~*~*~*~*~

 

It has been two weeks and three days since Harry popped out of his apartment without another word.  Not that he should be surprised really, he had threatened him after all.  

He finds the ache he feels in his gut far outweighs the surprise. 

So when a very familiar owl swoops through his open window at precisely six am Draco is so startled he knocks over his cup of perfectly brewed tea.

He doesn’t open the letter, just hits it with an efficient and angry incendio before putting the kettle back on.

The next few weeks proceed exactly the same and it becomes a bit of a habit.  Draco doesn’t even make his tea until the owl has come and gone, choosing instead to wait and watch with satisfaction as the parchment burns and crackles before turning to put on the kettle.  After setting exactly thirty three letters on fire without reading a single one, Draco is only mildly surprised when they finally stop coming.  Apparently even Harry Potter has his limits.

Draco tells himself he is not disappointed.

What does surprise him however is when, at precisely 1:42 in the morning several days later, as he is not so peacefully sleeping he hears someone banging on his door.  Not entirely sure why anyone would be using the front door he makes his way downstairs and very cautiously opens the door with his wand raised, only to see a very red faced Harry Potter staring at him.

“No!” Draco shouts, about to slam the door shut, but Harry is faster than him and his own arm is out and then he is pushing himself inside Draco’s flat before Draco realizes what is happening.

“You changed the wards.  I couldn’t floo or apparate.”

“Of course I fucking did.  You weren’t welcome.  You still aren’t by the way.  Especially not at this ungodly hour.  Merlin, Potter.”

Draco can’t help but watch the other man, watch the way the tension radiates off his body in waves as he digs his fingernails into the palms of his hands and he rocks back and forth on his heels.

“Sit down before you give yourself a heart attack.  I need a cuppa if I’ve got to deal with you, especially at this hour,” Draco says angrily, before stalking into his kitchen and making as much noise as possible as he slams the kettle down onto the stove.

When Draco returns to the living room seven minutes later he’s carrying two cups of tea in his hand.  Harry smiles at him but Draco doesn’t smile back, just hands him the cup before retreating to the other end of the sofa and curling his legs underneath him.

“You made me peppermint tea,” Harry whispers, and Draco pretends not to notice his hands shaking as he brings the tea to his lips with a wistful smile.

“Yes, well…I just haven’t had a chance to throw away that disgusting tea you like and I wasn’t going to waste this ridiculously expensive loose leaf bergamot tea on someone with such an unrefined palette was I,” Draco snaps defensively.  He wonders if Harry believes the lie, because he knows he doesn’t believe it himself.

He can still remember the next morning, slamming all of Harry’s things into a box and shoving it in the corner of his closest.  And yet when he’d gone to make tea he’d been unable to throw away the small box of peppermint tea tucked in the back; Harry’s favorite.  Instead he’d looked at it every day as if it were some sort of reminder that Harry wasn’t coming back.

“Thank you,” he says softly and Draco isn’t sure if hes thanking him for the tea or for letting him stay.

They don’t speak for several minutes, instead each staring into their tea as if waiting for the other one to make the first move.  Draco isn’t sure if it makes him want to laugh or cry.

“It wasn’t what you thought you know,” Harry finally tells him, still not looking up from his lap.

“I’m pretty sure it was exactly what it sounded like.  You and Weasley laughing about how you kept your apartment for whenever things went south with us, which you obviously knew they would.  Well fucking whooray you were right.  They did!  Aren’t you so glad you never officially moved it?”

Harry recoils at his sharp words, setting his teacup down gently before wrapping his arms around himself, almost unconsciously.

“I didn’t mean it like that.  I was drunk and I know you think that means I was saying how I really felt…and ok yeah I was but not in the way you think.”

“You are making no fucking sense!”

“I’m trying ok.  I’m not good at this.  I’m not…that’s why I didn’t come back right away.  It wasn’t because I didn’t care.  It was because I cared too much.  I knew I’d mess it up like I am now.”

“Potter, just say what you mean and get it over with.”

“Could you stop calling me, Potter.  I feel like were sixteen again.”

“Fine,  _Harry_ ,” he says, infusing the name with just as much animosity and venom as before.  Harry frowns again but doesn’t call him on it.  Instead he stares down at the carpet, and Draco thinks if they’re playing a waiting game he will definitely win because there’s no way he’s talking first.

“I was waiting for you to get tired of me,” Harry finally whispers and Draco is about to snap at his stupidity when he notices the dampness on Harry’s cheeks.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“I was waiting for you to realize it wasn’t worth it.  That  _I_ wasn’t worth it.  You hate the attention, I know you do.  We’re always in the Prophet and you get so angry and they’ve started questioning your colleagues and I know its disruptive to your potions business.  It’s just…a lot of resistance and pressure for sex.”

Of all the things Draco had expected this is about the last one.

“It was never just sex.”

“It wasn’t?” Harry asks hopefully, finally looking up at Draco and Draco almost wishes he hadn’t because he finds impossible to maintain any of his composure when Harry is looking at him like  _that_.

“No.  No it wasn’t,” Draco tells him, realizing suddenly that they’re sitting quite a bit closer than they were a few minutes ago.

“I was an idiot.”

“Yeah, yeah you were.  And I was scared,” Draco admits quietly.

“So was I,” Harry whispers.  “And you were a bit of an ass too.”

“Watch yourself,” Draco mutters, not at all angry.  He reaches out to playfully push at Harry’s shoulder, surprised when Harry reaches out and grabs his wrist pulling it towards his mouth and kissing his wrist.

“I wont lose you again,” Harry says, and the sincerity in voice nearly brings Draco to tears.  

He tries so hard to hold it in, to keep his composure, but before he realizes it Harry is pulling him close, pulling their bodies together and kissing Draco as if their lives depended on it.  And then Draco can’t stop the tears because its Harry; his Harry who is warm and sweet, who taste like peppermint and honey and whose rough fingers under his shirt make him want to scream.

Draco can’t think of a single word that could convey how he is feeling, so instead he leans forward and kisses Harry back just as intensely, as if their lives depended on it, because he thinks maybe they do.


End file.
